Well world, I have no idea if people actually keep track of this thing, or if the 250 pageviews I've had are from people finding this blog on StumbleUpon, but in case you didn't know, I've been on a mission for the past three months.
Now I'm not talking a goal oriented "I'm going on a mission to lose ten pounds" mission, but an actual church mission. given my lengthy medical history, I was given the option to instead of serve a two year mission like most guys in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints go on, but a three month mission. Short-term, trial mission, whatever you call it, I don't think there was a defined term, but basically, I served for 12 weeks in the Idaho Twin Falls Mission. The purpose was to test if I would really be able to hold for 24 months of walking around, knocking on doors and teaching people about Jesus. So, I was sent off to a foriegn land, two and a half hours down the Interstate and was told to teach the gospel.
Normally, a new missionary goes to what's called the MTC or Missionary Training Center for about two weeks, or six weeks if you're learning a language. There are several around the world and they are facilities to help prepare and obviously train the new missionaries before the go out "in the field" and do the "real" work. Well, I didn't get that opportunity. Literally, the night before I went on my mission, I was watching Netflix in my basement till one in the morning.
So I was thrown into this experience feeling like I had no idea what I was doing. My companion that I would be with for the next six weeks or more asked me on the car ride to our area we taught in what I expected of him, and of the mission.
I had absolutely no answer. I had no idea what teaching was like. I had no idea what the schedule was like. I had no idea what on earth I was doing. And so that first day, we went out there and taught a few people lessons, had dinner, and taught a few more. The next morning, we woke up at 6:30 and did it all over again till we got back to the apartment at 9:00 that night and going to bed at 10:30.
We also had a car. Our apartment was about 8 miles from the center of the town of Jerome, where we did most of our teaching, so we had it good. We drove everywhere, and do to my physical limitations, we were basically given as many miles on the car as needed. Most missionaries are restricted based on the size of their teaching area, if you're lucky enough to have a car in the first place.
But despite the cushy apartment we ended up with (most are pretty mediocre) and the nice little 2011 Toyota Corolla we had, my body still hated me. Despite being able to drive to all of our appointments, to drive to every dinner we had with church members, I just couldn't keep doing it day after day. The mental and emotional stress, combined with the physical stress of everything was just a bit too much. When most missionaries go to sleep exhausted at night, I came home exhausted, with my ankles locked up and my knees inflamed. I would pop 800 milligrams of ibuprofen to curb the pain and try to get some sleep, which came in fits.
I did this for 12 weeks. 90 days. 1260 hours. The only relief was the one day a week we got to prepare for the week, email our families and hang out with other missionaries. But the day was pretty much only from 10:30am to 6:00pm. the rest of the day was normal schedule.
So, here I am. Home. Do I feel ashamed? You bet I do. No matter how many people tell me "You did all you could do." or "Your body just wasn't meant for a full two years." There is still the fact that I wasn't able to do it. Do I let it fester inside of me all the time? No. But when other missionaries come home, and I get to see them, or I get emails from other missionaries, it reminds me of what I could be doing right now, and I do get a little frustrated. But such is life.
The fact of the matter is that many times in this life, we're put in situations that sometimes we don't know the outcome. Many times that outcome is "bad" or not the way we want. But how we come out of that trial is up to us and if we handle it with constant shame of not living up to expectations, we can become toxic to ourselves.
With that tinge of remorse that I feel occationally comes a sense of pride that I actually did it. I put forth that faith not knowing the outcome. The fact is that this is exactly the outcome my Father in Heaven wanted and I know that he's happy with me. I was never meant to serve a full two years. Do I know why? No. But I can tell you that I feel a great deal of accomplishment in getting as far as I did Because it's purely voluntary. I have friends that went on missions and friends that didn't, and I can tell you that even with only three months under my belt, I feel so much more prepared for life, learning, and just EVERYTHING in general, that I feel good about what I've done.
It doesn't matter how long I served. it doesn't matter that I had to "quit" after barely getting started because the Lord new exactly where he wanted me. It's all just up to me to keep His same attitude about the situation.
The reason this blog post is out, is so any of you "followers" if there are any, can know where I've been for a while, and to let you know that I'll be starting a blog within a blog. My life has a little more than just cars, dirt bikes and snowmobiles in it. For some strange reason, my relatives miss my letters home, and think I should start a "post-mission blog" which isn't going to be all that thrilling, but I'll give it a shot since I love them.
Smell ya later!
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